


Someday My Prince Will Come

by WithACommaAfterDearest



Category: Wooden Overcoats
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 04:37:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15307635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WithACommaAfterDearest/pseuds/WithACommaAfterDearest
Summary: Every now and then, Antigone lets her mind wander while working.





	Someday My Prince Will Come

Once in a blue moon, everything managed to align perfectly. 

Rudyard had had an epiphany about Eric Chapman during breakfast that resulted in two broken plates, an upended chair, and left every piece of bread in the house inedible before he sprinted out the door with a manic gleam in his eye. Antigone knew from experience that he wouldn’t be back until late, late that evening and would spent the night moodily nursing a glass of hot milk, muttering profanities. 

Mayor Desmond Desmond and Revered Wavering had begged Georgie to accompany them on their honeymoon in San Marino (the place was her suggestion) as their assistant, since she was _great_ at planning and _great_ at being a tourist and  
_great_ at threatening her way into exclusive events. She would be gone until next Thursday.  


Madeleine was off working on her newest novel, a very slow business as she had to jump from key to key to get her typewriter to work. That would occupy her for a good long while.  


The mortuary was lovely, so quiet and dark and cool. It was a rare treat to work without the muffled shouting of Rudyard in the distance and the shower of dust every time he stomped in frustration- which happened more often than you’d think. So, as a rare treat, Antigone allowed her mind to wander.  


Maybe, one day, on a day very much like today, a man would come into the funeral parlor. Maybe he’d have... blonde hair. That swooped over his eyes in the most alluring way. Yes, that sounded nice. And blue eyes went beautifully with blonde hair, so blue it was. A tan to make him look sun-kissed from days of adventuring. A smile, blindingly white, that could stop a train.  


Maybe she’d be humming as she worked and it would catch his attention. She wouldn’t notice him coming down the stairs to the mortuary, not until his big, strong arms wrapped around her waist from behind. He’d murmur, _"enjoying yourself?"_ into her ear, and she’d shiver at his hot breath. He’d kiss the nape of her neck and work his way down the side of her pale throat, lingering at the sensitive hollow behind her ear, sucking a mark just above her shoulder to hear her gasp. His hands would find their way to the bend of her waist and pull her more firmly into him, letting her feel his arousal, and she’d grind back against him so his breath would hitch- “ _Christ_ , Antigone." She’d do it again, to tease, and his patience would snap and he’d slam her back to the wall, ripping open the buttons on her bodice, unsnapping her bra in one deft move, thumbing her already hard nipples just to see her lips part and hear her breathy sigh. He’d kneel for her, then. Slip her skirt down, pull her leg over his shoulder, and look up at her with a smile- half loving, half mischievous. She’d lean her head against the wall at the first touch of his lips, fingers grasping for purchase and finding it in his hair. His tongue would send sparks of pleasure shivering through her body, and he would be such a damn tease, purposefully pulling back just as soon as she was close, blowing a stream of cool air on her wetness that made her whimper and tighten her grip in his hair. He'd relent after she voiced a few breathless pleas and return to his work, lightly sucking on her clit. His finger found her entrance, worked inside, curled in a way that grazed something incredible that sent her over the edge with a sharp cry, trembling through the aftershocks. The man would stand up and finally kiss her properly, lightly nipping her lower lip, murmuring “ _Antigone, Antigone_ …”  


“Antigone? Antigone.”  


Antigone’s daydream dissolved and she blinked at the scalpel in her hand. She couldn't remember how long ago she had picked it up.  


“Antigone, are you all right?”  


_Figures._  


“What? Yes. Perfectly fine, Rudyard, go back to your milk, leave me in peace, get _out_.” She tossed the scalpel down and glared at the intruder, only for her look to soften to surprise after her eyes locked not with the black ones of her brother but the blue ones of a certain Eric Chapman.  


“I just came down to-” he broke off, frowning. “Are you all right? Your cheeks look flushed.”  


Antigone’s hand flew to her cheek. “What? No they aren't, yours are, shut up.”  


“And something is different about your eyes.”  


“Well, yours are too blue and deep and soulful. We all have our quirks.” _Score one, Antigone._  


“I- what?”  


_Or maybe not._ “Look, I'm very busy, do you need me?" _Please need me._  


“Rudyard is stuck in a tree.”  


“A tree,” Antigone repeated, shifting uncomfortably. Chapman’s crossed arm stance accentuated the muscles in his upper arms, which wasn't helping her brain function.  


“My plum tree, yes. He climbed it for God knows what reason and he can't come down again.” Chapman paused. “Like a cat.”  


Antigone had to bite her cheek to keep from giving away a far too revealing smile.  


“Why didn't you call the fire department? Or Agatha Doyle? Or anyone?”  


Chapman shrugged. “You’re used to dealing with him. I thought you’d know best.”  


The small bubble of hope growing in her chest popped. That was a sensible reason. It didn't sound like an excuse to see her. “Oh. Yes.” She brushed her hair in front of her face and busied herself tidying up her workspace to hide her disappointment. She'd lived with Rudyard for 35 years and rescued him from about that many trees. It wasn't a question of if she could so much as which tactic she should use. “Tell him bats will roost in the tree if he doesn't come down before nightfall.” She risked a peek through her curtain of hair.  


Chapman laughed in that beautiful way only he was able to. Not like Rudyard’s laughter, which was usually maniacal, or Georgie’s, which was typically at someone else’s expense, or even Lady Templar’s, which was… honestly quite frightening. Chapman’s laugh was clean and friendly and unrestrained, like he was enjoying himself and was inviting the rest if the world to join in.  


“You’re brilliant, Antigone. He'll be home in ten minutes.” He leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek without a hint of hesitation. Antigone’s fingers itched to trace the burning skin his lips had touched, but she buried them in her skirt and swallowed a small shriek that threatened to burst out. “Goodnight!”  


Antigone had dozens of scenarios she liked to pick from when she daydreamed, plucked and patchworked from various books and films. The one with her brandishing a whip, the one with the handsome blonde man in handcuffs, the one where she teased her beloved until he was desperate and begging and completely at her mercy.  


But no matter how filthy, no matter how dirty, no matter how depraved, she found that in each one, she couldn't help but have the handsome blonde stranger press a kiss to her cheek before she could fully lose herself in her fantasy

**Author's Note:**

> Open for prompts! I'll write for just about any pairing at any rating- I just want more of this fandom in my life :P


End file.
